Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Cat
Another game, another win, another week of abstinence from Hunter went by.
Abstinence if I didn’t count the texting.
Picking up my good old-fashioned extra-large Dunkin coffee, cream only, I took a bracing swig and tapped at some keys halfheartedly.
I could probably put out social media content in my sleep.
At least there were some killer photos of Hunter leaping in the air to catch a spectacular pass.
For a heart-stopping moment during that play, I thought he’d been injured when he was tackled and slow to get up.
Pausing, I checked my phone even though it hadn’t beeped at me. No text waiting.
Hunter and I had gotten into the routine of texting daily as our only safe means of communication to schedule his events and confirm appointments.
The phone, needless to say, was prohibited, especially at night, except in an emergency.
Not that we formalized this agreement by talking about it. It was all tacit.
In-person meetings were out of the question.
The only gratifying thing about this week was that a Twitter poll had Hunter Quintanna’s positive ratings up by twenty percent.
A couple of media outlets mentioned him attending the St. Jude’s event and the fact that he good-naturedly allowed himself to be put up for auction for the benefit of the children.
A photo of him hugging the little girl with the bow on her bald head had almost gone viral.
His auction date would happen after the team got back from the game in New York on Sunday.
About the same time I would be on my so-called date with Jason—and my dad and Penny.
I made sure Hunter’s auction date would be at a different restaurant.
After I finally got going with my deep investigative research into Hunter’s hometown, his youth and his family, a knock at the door interrupted me. I was about to shoo whoever it was away when I looked up and saw it was Dad.
“This is a surprise. I don’t think you’ve bothered checking out my closet—I mean office—until now. Must be important.” I maintained my smile in spite of my nerves kicking in, assuming the worst kind of bad news. But he smiled too, so how bad could it be?
“I heard talk in the locker room about the auction. You had Hunter auction himself off?” He laughed. “You’re mean. You must have some of me in you after all.”
I allowed myself to breathe a little and laughed along. The other shoe would be dropping any second now. He stepped inside, glanced out my window to his world, the practice field, then turned to me with his coach’s no-nonsense face.
“Let’s make sure we have our after-game dinner at the same restaurant as Quintanna and his auction date. We need to keep an eye on that devil.”
“Devil? Really, Dad?” I rolled my eyes because he expected me to. “You know the PR department is sending someone with a photographer to handle—”
“I thought you were the handler? Let’s see this through, Cat. No halfway measures. We’ll be there and we’ll make sure he’s handled.”
“Yes, sir.” I smiled when I wanted to weep, wanted to scream with frustration at how dumb, deaf, and blind my father was about me. How could he have no clue that this was awkward?
Because I’d made sure he wouldn’t suspect a thing about my thing for Hunter.
“I’ll see you Sunday when we get back to Logan Airport. Have a car pick me up there and we can go to the restaurant right from the airport. Make the same arrangements for Hunter. Separate car—”
“That’s already been taken care of. He has a limo for him and his date. Courtesy of the Militia.”
“Good.” He leaned in and gave me a hug, something he’d always done since childhood when he said goodbye. The one thing that had always been the frail but unbreakable string that tethered us in the worst of times, the early years of the divorce.
He left and I was left juggling things in my head, avoiding the specter of watching Hunter on a date with a beautiful, albeit older woman. She wasn’t old enough for me not to hate her, just a little. I went back to work and arranged everything as my father wanted.
I was about to grab my coat and leave for the day when the desk phone rang and I jumped. Heart thudding, hoping it was Hunter. Afraid it was Hunter. I calmed, chided myself, and picked it up.
“Hello, kid,” Penny said. “You’re working late. I hear there’s a change of venue for dinner Sunday, according to Coach. It’ll be a late one—nine p.m.—but Ruth’s Chris serves dinner late. Wanted to make sure you knew.”
“Believe it or not, Dad popped in earlier to tell me.” I didn’t tell her why, in case she didn’t know.
No such luck. Penny was too sharp.
“I’m not surprised he stopped in. I told him you wouldn’t like it. He said, ‘Nonsense, it’s her job to keep an eye on—’”
“The devil.” They both laughed.
“Will Jason mind?” she said.
“Of course not. You know we’re not really dating.”
She sighed. “I don’t like the idea of you pretending to date him. Poor guy. I don’t mind you pulling the wool over your father’s eyes, since heaven knows he deserves it. But Jason—I don’t approve of you using him.”
“As if. It’s the best acting gig he’s had in ages. He’s a good friend doing me a favor. And, the most key point of all, he’s gay.”
“Are you sure he’s gay?” She used her famous pointed voice.
“Of course I am. He told me and my sorority sisters back in undergrad when he crashed our pajama party movie night. And he’s been like one of us ever since.”
“Aha. And have you ever met one of his boyfriends?”
“No. Why would I? We travel in different social circles. But I’ve heard endless stories from him—”
“Story is the key word,” Penny said.
“You’re a stubborn woman, Penny. And you’re all wrong about Jason—believe me. He’s never made a move on me. Ever. How many straight men can I say that about?”
She laughed. Discussion closed. Good thing, because I was beginning to get alarmed by the whole idea. It was too far-fetched. Though there had been that kiss after the game. But that kiss had all been for show. And he was an actor.
This Friday’s charity event was far different than last week’s and I was excited to let Hunter know about it.
We’d decided to schedule one for every Friday for the rest of the season—even when there was a Thursday night or Monday night game, though I would make sure it was something short for those off-Sunday schedule weeks.
We were seven weeks into the season now and the Militia were at six wins and one loss.
That would mean Coach would be in a good mood for Sunday dinner—as long as we won that game.
But this week’s opponent was a tough one, our rivals from Pittsburgh.
They had the same record. I had no idea how Hunter was doing in practice or if his bruised thigh was improving.
I didn’t dare ask questions and he didn’t offer to chitchat about anything, not even football.
If I wanted to, I supposed I could call Gabe and find out, but that would be lamer than I’d been when I was a lame fifteen-year-old. And it would get back to Hunter and no doubt anger him. Or make him think me a fool. Because I, apparently, was a first-class, big fat fool.
Tonight was dinner at the Veterans’ shelter in downtown Boston.
I’d texted the details earlier, but I hadn’t heard back from him.
I thought he’d want to know who else was going.
There’d be a truckload of people—literally.
I was driving the van to deliver some extra goodies.
Footballs, Boston Militia jerseys and knit caps, and some primo food.
I’d had to go to the VP of Finance to wheedle permission for the extra expense, but once I got to the son of the team’s owner, he was on board.
I had carte blanche and the keys to a team van.
Someone else could have driven the cargo van, but I wanted to.
Even if I would only help unload things through the back door and never be part of the event itself.
The director of the shelter knew what to do.
I’d been talking to him on the phone and had to sidestep the question about why I wouldn’t be joining the rest of them as the team rep.
I lost track of all the excuses I’d come up with.
It wasn’t as if I could tell the director flat out that I couldn’t be trusted to be in the company of Hunter Quintanna without throwing myself at him—and therefore getting him thrown off the team. Out of the NFL for good.
After meeting half the squad of cheerleaders at the stadium’s garage, I drove us with the loaded van to the Veterans’ shelter. Pulling out behind the building as instructed, we got out and I opened the back.
“Who wants to help me unload the goodies?” I said. The women were game in spite of being dressed in skimpy outfits, having nothing but stockings covering their legs all the way up to their tiny shorts.
“Of course we’ll help you. We’re not just a bunch of pretty faces,” the captain said.
“No, but you might be a bunch of frozen cheerleaders—maybe you should go inside and I’ll find the director to help.”
“We’ll at least take one armful on our way inside,” she said. I nodded and, being the chicken that I’d become since avoiding Hunter, I called the director instead of going inside to find him.
I stood in the alley with the phone up to my ear, shivering in the cold November night, when another car pulled up. Shit.
The director answered my call at the same time as Gabe and Hunter got out of their car. Waving at them, I turned away and spoke into the phone.
“Hello, Evan, I’m out back with a van full of gifts for your clients. More than we originally planned.”
“Sounds terrific. I’ll be right out to help you unload. Does this mean you’re staying for the fun?”
“No. I can’t. Really—”
Gabe came around the open back doors of the van and, in his usual rambunctious style, he let out a whistle and spoke loud enough for Evan to hear.